


stretching the distance

by schoolboysmile



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, baker!liam, janitor!niall, receptionist!louis, teacher!Zayn, yoga!harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:14:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schoolboysmile/pseuds/schoolboysmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an AU where Harry owns a yoga mat and stretches almost as good as an olympic gymnast, Louis has a post-it note obsession, Zayn can't figure out anything, Liam is an experimental baker, and Niall cleans the floors. Also the one where Louis needs Feng shui and Harry is the only one who can provide it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stretching the distance

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time posting a larry fic, usually I just do /a lot/ of reading but @larrybanging on twitter had a fab idea with yoga!harry and it needed to be filled. you cant leave a prompt like that hanging. and it took a while and im sorry but i hope maybe the outcome of it all will make up for the three months this took... oops. anyway, it was going to be a oneshot but I like the idea of a three part thing so there will be on tonight, one sunday night, and one monday night :) yeee

Harry was never one of those kind of people who obsessed over small details. He was someone who kicked their feet up and relaxed, generally going with the flow of life and taking what was thrown at him. Order wasn't really his thing unless it was a Monday, Wednesday or Friday morning.

 

He had an order for these days though, one that began with him taking a 3 mile or so jog around his Los Angeles neighborhood, ending with him at a small tea shoppe, bouncing his knee and reading through emails on his phone with a mug of Earl Grey in his much too large hand.

 

Once the little cup was empty, he got up, winked at the elderly woman sitting in the corner reading horoscopes. She was always alone, no wedding ring on her finger, and Harry couldn't help but feel the insatiable need to be nice to her. One day they'd have a proper conversation, but he would save it for a Tuesday, for he had a schedule that needed to be kept.

 

Obsessive compulsive yoga instructor that he was.

 

Then he was off again, crossing the street to his yoga studio.

 

Originally it hadn't been his, it was his sister's pride and glory but when she had gotten sick- Harry had realized that you do certain things for your siblings, and one of them is keeping their dreams alive whether it's what you imagined doing with your life or not.

 

So now Harry partially owned a Yoga Studio, and had an incredible mass of women that adored him, and he wore stretchy pants on the daily. If anyone ever asked how he really was, he would say he felt happier than he had in years.

 

Pushing open the door leading into the lobby Harry snagged a water bottle off the counter and smiled widely at his receptionist, Louis, who was straightening the leather chair in the corner, trying to situate it in a way that appealed to him, the absolutely anal assistant.

 

Harry did love that about him though.

 

Louis huffed from the corner, trying to lift the heavy piece of furniture, his cheeks turning pink and teeth digging into his lip. Harry stopped breathing for a minute, which wasn't unusual, Louis was breathtaking, especially when he was wearing that damn blue shirt and that damn grey hat. He was the only person that could wear a beanie with a pom-pom with an attempt to look masculine.

 

Setting down the bottle in his hand Harry took the two or three steps until he was pressed against Louis, hauling the chair into his arms and nodding to the opposite corner of the room.

 

"Yes, I want it to be angled to the left, if it's straight then it upsets the Feng Shui," he said quietly, because everything Lou did was quiet and calculated and perfect.

 

The last one may have been an opinion, but nonetheless it was Harry's take on him.

 

"Mhmm," mumbles Harry, lugging the chair over to its new designated position.

 

Once he sets it down and he looks to Lou for confirmation- earning a nod and the tiniest of smiles so Harry knows he situated the feng shui. Louis scurries back to his desk and sits down, tapping at the keys of the Mac in front of him. Probably making schedules or something that would make Harry's life all the easier, Louis was fantastic at his job.

 

He came with the Studio after Gemma had gifted it to him, Louis was what kept it from deteriorating when it had fallen onto Harry.

 

Harry sat in awe as Louis because the accountant, financial advisor, lobbyist, fundraiser, and manager of the business whilst he was back in London, trying to keep his mother sane after losing her only daughter  to a sickness that could have been prevented.

 

It was a hard time, for everyone.

 

But months had passed on his calendar and Harry moved back to LA- giving up his beach house for Gem's city flat. He wanted to do everything he could to be near to her, it was the only way he could grieve. Things were okay now, he had a schedule, and yoga, and Louis was doing all the actual work.

 

The Half-Moon pose was as difficult as Harry got in his new job.

 

As far as he could tell, Louis really didn't mind the work, it seemed that he liked to pace around the studio, messing with printers and the monthly sit downs Harry and he had to discuss new business ventures and possibly expanding to more areas. Louis was in every part of the studio, and Harry sincerely hoped it stayed this way.

 

Harry liked certain aspects of schedules, Louis always being there was a perfect example.

 

"I've got to go set up class," Harry said to the boy in blue, shoving his hair back, waiting for Lou to glance at him, "is there anything you need moved before people get here?"

 

Blinking rapidly, and taking his black rimmed glasses off for a moment Louis puckers his lips and snatches a post-it from his supplies carrier.

 

"Um... Well I've come up with some ideas for the expansion and it all needs your go ahead, I could type it up-"

 

Harry stops him abruptly, this is his chance, Harry's whole life is a series of carpe diem moments he tries not to cringe at later.

 

"Or you could pop over for dinner and then we could go from there," he replies quickly, before he can talk himself out of anything, because Harry is very good at that. Talking himself into practically being a terrified little child. He doesn't like being scared, or hiding behind small smiles and secret thoughts. But it comes pretty naturally.

 

It's not even as if Louis' never spent a meal with Harry before, they talk business over tea and vegan red velvet cake at the organic café on Warner Street.

 

Louis likes cake, and Harry likes getting Louis what he likes.

 

It's a very giving sort of relationship.

 

Louis gapes at Harry's suggestion, eyes flying to the open day-planner on his desk that is crammed with his neat words in various colors of markers and pens. Louis skims his finger up and down the pages and Harry has a new fascination with his fingers.

 

_You're pathetic,_ he thinks to himself, _absolutely pathetic._

 

"Yeah," he says breathlessly after a moment of looking at his plans, blue eyes shining brighter than any light Harry's ever seen. "I'll be there around 7?"

 

Harry nods, over excitedly, like a child who was just told they're the new King of Disneyland.

 

God, the things Harry would do to see Louis in a Mickey Mouse hat with his name lightly stitched in the back.

 

_Stop,_ he thinks to himself again, _you have actual things to be done, things that don't include Louis. Or his fingers. Or his fucking wonderful beanie._

 

"Okay, okay, I'll see you then-"

 

Lou tips his head a bit and a tiny flush creeps onto his cheeks, "And you know, after your class."

 

Smiling at Louis and cringing inwardly at himself, Harry turns around and lopes into the studio where a few of the women  have already set out their mats. They all have coordinating tops and water bottles and talk in the same high pitch falsetto that every other female in Los Angeles has.

 

But they like Harry, and they keep bringing friends so he really can't complain that much.

 

Keeping the business alive is the general idea.

 

"Hi ladies," he says passing them, rubbing a few shoulders quickly in an affectionate way. It's sort of his thing, he likes touching people to feel closer to them.

 

Around ten minutes later he lays down the sky blue mat that makes him think of Louis' eyes and stretches some, using a tiny remote to start the background music, a calming tune  that Harry can never get out of his head.

 

Then he gives out soft instructions to the girls in front of him in various shapes and sizes, takes a long breath and closes his eyes.

 

This is what the schedule was for. The morning run. The tea. It all led up to something so soothing, so perfect- his version of peace.

 

It brought him peace he could get nowhere else, maybe it was the quiet, or the hushed whispers of gossip, maybe the actual stretching did it for him, but all of it combined just brought sheer, total happiness it was incomprehensible and impossible to explain.

 

Harry thinks its Gemma's way of reminding him he still needs to be happy.

 

*************

 

Louis is freaking out.

 

Now, this is the understatement of the century and he starts to think of actual comparisons but stops himself when he realizes it's a very trivial subject- especially when it's paired with the fact that his hair is a disaster with absolutely no gel in it, he can't find his white Converse and there's five minutes left on the drier where his pants are and he should have left his house at least ten minutes ago.

 

A freak out, break down was about to occur. Someone send out a county wide signal, Louis Tomlinson was going to yell and cry and possibly cancel on Harry.

 

No, he couldn't do that. He had been waiting months for Harry to look at him long enough to ask him to dinner.

 

Straight away, after he asked if Louis would meet at his place that evening, he had called Zayn, who was in the middle of teaching an English class but had stepped out for a second to deal with an 'emergency.'

 

Louis may be a shy person, but that didn't mean dramatics weren't what he did best.

 

Almost crying into the receiver Louis had detailed the quick proposal Harry had given him. Like it wasn't fantastic and the thing Louis had wanted to do for weeks and weeks. And he did it so easily, as if he asked his receptionists to dinner all the time at his house.

 

Well he couldn't really do that all the time because Louis was his only actual receptionist, but that wasn't the point.  The point was, Harry made everything look easy. It made Louis confused as if he should punch him or kiss him. Probably the latter though, who in their right mind would never want to damage a face like Harry's.

 

Not that Louis was close to a state of right mind currently.

 

_Not. The. Point._

 

"You actually like him,"  had accused Zayn from the other side of the line, he was probably sorting his hair out in some reflective surface, not even caring that Louis was falling apart. He could even be writing sonnets in his head or something terribly romantic like that and Louis wouldn't be able to tell.

 

It was just so Zayn of him to be passé about the un-passé things.

 

Louis thought to himself that if there were ever a time to actually say 'sigh' in a conversation for real, in real life, it would have been then. And it would have been an angry, disturbed, terrible sigh.

 

Instead he had just whisper-shrieked, "Yes, I fucking like him. I've been like a puppy for six months, waiting for him to just look at me and realize he can't live without kissing me."

 

Zayn chuckled. A stupid English-Major chuckle that made Louis want to set him on fire.

 

He continued though, just to spite his best friend, "Z, you should have seen him this morning throwing chairs around like they don't weigh 250 pounds, I don't think I've swooned that badly since I watched Meredith Grey and Derek Shepard get married on a Post-It."

 

After rubbing his eyes and waiting for Zayn to make some smart ass comment is when the fog of panic had set in.

 

What jeans should he opt for? Hat? No hat? Which cologne would make Harry want to jump him? Would that new oversized jumper make him look pudgy or chic?

 

All important questions that could lead him to his soulmate. Well maybe not that far, but the idea is still there. This was important and Louis was so blind as to what to do he might as well be Helen Keller trying to describe a color.

 

"I'll come over after class and bring a bottle of wine," said Zayn, having it all figured out already. He doesn't disagree, if a nice Pino would be poured in his flat tonight- who is he to complain? Especially since Zayn had excellent taste.

 

Louis had taken a deep breath and then hung up the phone, satisfied for the moment with the plans of the night still looming ahead of him like a train on the tracks.

 

He was still a bit nervous. It was probably causing his face to redden and look terribly unattractive,  but realistically he was too panicked to care about splotches, which said quite a bit.

 

Harry had winked after his Yoga lesson, looking at Louis with that god forsaken headband in his hair, sweating lightly but looking more refreshed than anyone he had ever seen. He looked at peace with the whole fucking world and Louis would actually give him the world if he would keep that expression on his face forever.

 

“Bye Lou!” he had managed to get out before another one of his female admirers attacked him with questions about breathing cycles and vegan diets.

 

He sighed and went back to his email addressed the contractors of the new studio they were trying to build. It was proving to be insanely time consuming but Louis didn’t mind the extra hours he put in, not even because Harry overpaid him, but because it made him happy to make his life easier.

 

So now it was 6:10 and traffic would be a nightmare and Louis was well on the way to being late to Harry’s. He breathed, then looked to Zayn who was across the room, probably on Twitter typing out sad poems he found online.

 

Louis threw a shoe at him. “Help me!”

 

It wasn’t that Louis was a particularly violent person either, he was just terrified and excited and free and lonely at the same time and didn’t know how to process extreme emotions, so he settled on physical ways of describing his needs.

 

Like, for instance, throwing footwear across rooms at his best friend.

 

With an exasperated huff Rachel Berry from Glee would have been proud of, Zayn stood up, strode past Louis, smelling like Calvin Klein aftershave and a million girls’ broken hearts.

 

He went to his closet, plucking out random articles of clothing, scrutinizing them for a moment, then promptly, throwing them on the floor. After ten pieces of Louis’ dignity were on his shag carpet he felt defeated, as if he had nothing applicable to wear in the presence of someone like Harry.

 

But alas, like a diamond in the rough, Zayn pulled out a jumper with large navy and grey horizontal stripes. Normally it wouldn’t have been his sort of thing, it was a little showy and a little to sailor-y for his liking but it worked, and it was soft. So he put it on with a small grin aimed at Z and his knack for working wardrobe situations with absolute ease.

 

Paired with his favorite black jeans and white converse (which were located under his bed, near a pile of discarded sheets) it was casual, though the top proved to be a bit big, so he rolled up the sleeve and grumbled. He was small and curvy, and as Zayn said, whilst shoving a beanie on his head, adorable.

 

A generous gulp of wine and his notes were all Lou needed to face Harry.

 

“You know,” said Zayn, swirling his drink around his pretty glass, “I want to be best man. Like, I’m calling it right now.”

 

“We’re making business, not wedding plans you twat,” says Louis, shuffling papers on his countertop, they’re in alphabetical order for easy location. Obviously he has way too much time on his hands. Whatever.

 

“The last time you got this ready for someone, it was the person you dated for four years,” replied Zayn, pointing his finger at exactly the memories Louis didn’t want to remember. Who cares if his first love was the one who got away? There was obviously a purpose, and Louis had room in his heart for the love of his life, not some boy who would trample all over him without a care.

 

“Stop making sense, Z, it’s annoying.”

 

Shoving the files into a folder he tucks it under his arm and turns around to face Zayn, “Thanks though, you’re my self-appointed stylist from now on.”

 

Pretending to be flattered Zayn puts his hand to his mouth and shrugs, blowing a kiss and saying, “Good luck babes, make him propose by dessert!”

 

Louis slammed the door behind him, closing his eyes and wishing on his shining stars that this would be everything he needed it to be.

  
  


**********

  
  


Harry was a mess.

 

Literally a mess, he had pasta sauce splattered all over his white shirt and garlic bread crumbs stuck to the bottom of his feet because of the mishap whilst adding them to the pan, and his hair was pushed back by a bright pink headband. He would probably cry if Louis saw him like this.

 

He shoved the pan in the over after sprinkling it with cheese and his best intentions. This needed to turn out well for the sake of their appetites and Harry’s reputation as a decent cook. Then he practically ran to the shower, stripping off his shirt and pants, hopping in before even testing the water.

 

It turned out to be frigid but after a few seconds of hopping from foot to foot and squealing like a little girl the temperature rose and he scrubbed his hair with the raspberry scented shampoo and conditioner set his mum had gifted him. Harry liked fruity smells, there wasn’t anything wrong with that either.

 

Harry indulged in the warm water, it calmed him down, reminded him it was just Louis. The one person aside from his mother that he knew was perfect. Not just because he knew everything, but because he was organized and paid attention to everyone and was selfless and kind. Louis was a good person, which was the best kind of person you could be.

 

It needed to be a quick shower, with minimal stalling but getting out would make everything real, it meant that things could go terribly and Louis would realize that Harry wasn’t worth his time because he was boring and messy and could only follow schedules if they involved tea or yoga.

 

He spun the knob to the right, shutting off the water that kept him calm and safe, time to face reality and the things that happen when you invite lovely boys over to discuss business.

 

He toweled off his hair, combed through it with his fingers, and wrapped the white towel around his waist, securing it with a simple twist and tuck. Good enough for now, he thought as he scrubbed a toothbrush around in his mouth and shuffled back to the kitchen where he pulled the pasta bake from the oven. Looking at it thoughtfully he decided he was proud, it wasn’t even burnt, he might even go as far as saying it looked delicious.

 

Chef Styles at your service.

 

He went around his living room and lit a few candles that smelled of vanilla and sugar cookies, the most girliest scents in the world. But Harry liked them and didn’t see anything wrong with his flat smelling like the house off of America's Next Top Model.

 

All was going fine until his doorbell rang, which isn't something of particular consequence, but it was 7:03 and he was wrapped in a towel, and a pink toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. A dribble of toothpaste might have even been making its way down his lip.

 

_This wasn't okay._

 

But without even thinking, because Harry did that often, he just went to the door threw it open and only sort of felt regret for it. Louis looked wonderful and he was wearing that damn hat again, and a sweater with stripes that he had never seen before, and Harry decided that he never wanted seasons to change because in an LA summer you couldn't wear sweaters and Louis looked as if he was born to be put in sweaters with sleeves that were too long for him.

 

“Um- hi,” said Louis, looking as if he were going to run out of the doorway right then and there. Why wouldn’t he? Harry couldn’t even get dressed on time, and Louis had not only come on time, he had a stack of papers that were probably alphabetized and had a rainbow of Post-Its in it so Harry could begin to understand anything about what the whole Business Plans were.

 

“Hey, hi, um, hello,” stammers Harry, shoving himself to the side and much to enthusiastically throwing his and into the house. Honestly, he just wanted to be able to shut the door so Louis didn’t have the option to leave before Harry got to say anything other than a mixed-up greeting.

 

"It smells nice," said Louis, but Harry caught less of the words and more of the lip movements. Harry wanted to kiss him, hard, up against a wall or a post or something and then go into detail about how he wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around Louis because he was small and beautiful and needed to be cherished.

 

But instead it came out, "I need to put some clothes on."

 

Lou nodded and held up a bottle of wine, looking calm and sweet, ready for anything. "I'll have a look around for your bottle opener while you do that 'kay?"

 

He said 'kay. Harry wanted to melt into the floor like warm jello.

 

So Harry did as he said we would and padded to the back of the apartment and tugged a white shirt over his head and black jeans that were probably the reason no one would ever believe he was strait. Then he shuffled his hair around some more until it was semi-curly and mostly messy. This would do.

 

When he got back to the kitchen Louis had already set the table like some sort of Martha Stewart clone. There were even folded napkins and the silverware sparkled, which was something Harry wasn’t used to. Generally- though he would never admit it because it’s terribly embarrassing- Harry uses paper plates with the floral outlines and for cutlery it happens to be plastic most nights. But it all makes Harry happier because Louis being here for five minutes was long enough to break habits Harry has had since he moved out on his own when he was eighteen, which was nearly three years ago.

 

And surprisingly, the most alarming thing about it all was not the fact that Harry couldn’t begin to fathom the last time he actually used real forks at home- but the reality that Louis could navigate around his house perfectly. As if that is what he was meant to do, find organization in Harry’s cluttered world.

 

“Looks nice,” says Harry, smiling widely at Louis to try and emulate how much he loves having him here.

 

Lou blushes just the tiniest bit, enough to catch if you’ve paid enough attention to every detail of his face like Harry has, “Tables have to be made, I’m a bit obsessed with that fact.”

 

Harry almost chokes on the water from the glass in his hand because he can physically feel the happiness growing in his chest. There’s a scene in The Grinch where his heart grows three sizes, and in theory if your heart were to enlarge that quickly and to that size it would be painful. Harry would argue by the fact that he could hear the blood in his ears, he could feel the warmth spreading from the tips of his toes straight into his heart and it felt so earth-shatteringly good that Harry didn’t particularly know what to say or do, all he could do was smile back and laugh lightly as if this wasn’t the most  beautiful feeling, quite possibly one of the best he’d ever had before.

 

He needs something to do, so Harry nods and says, “I’ll get dinner, yeah? Then we can talk expansion?”

 

The last thing he cares about when Louis is in the room is the new studio they want to put in Sacramento, but Lou put so much work into it that Harry wouldn’t dream of saying that aloud.

 

Louis nods excitedly and Harry has to leave the room to make sure he doesn’t have heart palpitations while he’s got a guest to entertain.

 

He grabs the pasta off the counter in one hand and a loaf of gluten free french bread in the other because Louis is a freak about vitamins and carb-intake, _eating healthy makes him feel accomplished_ , Harry thinks as he sets it down in the middle of the table, careful to avoid the intense organization of papers Louis is doing off to the side.

 

Going about serving and pouring drinks, Harry finds it easier to control his every thought when his hands are doing something other than tapping away at his leg, sorting out what they should do since brushing Louis’ hair out of his eye isn’t an option.

 

“The first thing really, is deciding when you want to open,” says Lou offhandedly, stacking papers and not looking up at him.

 

He seems so unaffected by Harry and it’s only slightly disappointing because he never expected anything other than a business partner out of him, Louis probably has a million suitors lined up around the corner and Harry is in line, but probably somewhere in the back because he hasn’t been around that long.

 

Though it is an important point to say that Louis only has to look in your direction for you to fall a little bit in love with him.

 

“Opening…” says Harry, chewing a piece of bread then going on, “I think around Christmas might be nice, indoor activities are nice for Winter.”

 

“S’what I thought too, and I found this building a little outside of Sacramento, not exactly where we wanted because it’s in Chico,” he says, pulling out pictures to show me, “but it’s got so much character and potential I think it would be stupid to let it go.”

 

Handing over the photos, Harry is half shocked because this isn’t what he had imagined Louis picking for their new location. It’s gorgeous, that’s a given, it is tall and wide-stretching with bay windows and pillars. It looks almost old-english, nothing like the LA studio with it’s modern everything. But Harry likes it, and he wants to see it in person, so he can feel the wood floors and look at the view it claims to have, and god knows Louis has to feel the feng shui of it all before we make any decisions.

 

“When can we have a proper look,” asked Harry, waiting for an answer until after Louis had swallowed a mouthful of pasta.

 

“This is delicious,” he compliments before yanking out a day planner from the mess of papers, “and I think I booked… Saturday at 1:30. Does that work for you? We can probably reschedule if you’ve got other obligations, I mean I have some real esate friends, we can have top priority-”

 

“Saturday is great,” interrupts Harry before Lou has a stroke from getting so many words out in .2 seconds.

 

He breathes out deeply then takes another bite before continuing to scribble in his notebook.

  
“Okay then, Saturday. It’s a date.” he says with a smile that threatens to break Harry’s heart again. Maybe it already has.


End file.
